Chapter 9: The Records Cage

Isaiah came out of the back in yesterday's shirt with his jacket in one hand.

He did not hurry and he did not hide.

"Sir," he said.

"Mr. Doran." Colonel Redfern set the pastry box on my counter. "Good. That saves me a call."

"Sir, about the boots."

"I haven't asked about any boots."

"No, sir."

"A man's private business is his own. I only wonder what the review board will say about it."

He said it pleasantly.

I came out behind Isaiah with my hair loose and my vest on over last night's thermal.

I did not apologize for either one.

"Colonel," I said. "We don't open until eight."

"It's ten past seven, Captain."

"Then you're early."

"I am. I wanted to catch you before the day starts." He untied the string. "Lemon and blueberry. I remembered you used to like them."

I looked at the box.

I had never in my life eaten a pastry in front of him.

He had remembered nothing.

He was building a memory and handing it to me.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"A lock."

"Which?"

"The records cage at the motor depot. Someone tried to pry it last week."

"And?"

"The latch is bent and the cylinder is junk. I have eleven years of maintenance files behind it."

My pulse jumped.

I kept my face still.

"Eleven years," I said.

"Back to when I commanded the depot myself. Nothing secret, but I don't like things unlocked."

He smiled.

"I'd like you to do it today, if you can. I'll have my own man escort you."

"I'll escort her," Isaiah said.

The colonel turned.

"I'm sure you would."

"Sir, it's my post, and I'm the investigator on it."

"You're relieved of that file."

"On paper, sir."

The shop was very quiet.

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